Once, I too, believed...
As we grow older, the troubles of reality linger even as we laugh, and joy becomes a weight, almost solid. People change, I am aware of that. People wish that they may not, or they crave that they should be utterly different, but in the end we always change. Sometimes for the better, sometimes not. I changed too, of course. I went from being free and untroubled to something else. I do still not know exactly what, but I know that I am not what I once were.
Is this a fairy tale for you to listen to as you creep into your bed and dream about goals you'll never reach? I hope not. Though I must say that there are no place where it is more easy to find death and agony than in the stories we feed our young with every day. Maybe it really is no wonder that the world is what it is. It is not a very happy place. I am not a troubled person, but even I can tell that there are clouds are on the skies that we do not understand. If this would have been a civilisation in heavy forests and damp temples we would probably have said that the moon is longing for the sun or that the trees wishes to be heard. Nevertheless, we would have found a reason. In our reality, here and now, we can't. If we say something it is only to lay the blame on other people. People with power, people that can be seen. Are they real?
It was never easy being me. Life is complicated and I am easily confused. As a child I was naive and honest. The years and what they did bring with them made me cynical and reserved. Maybe what I am trying to say is that life is hard, long and expensive, but not necessarily a bad thing. There are too many good things to make life a bad thing. I will not name all the things I believe are good, because then this would get long and corny, and you would lose your interest before I've even started.
I am going to tell you a story, a story about me. It is not a fairy tale and it is not a dream about a life I never had. It is a very plain story about me. There are so many things that I would like to show you, but reality has made that impossible so instead I shall attempt to tell you in the best fashion I can. I hope you understand that I am trying to deliver a message. It is a message that cannot be fit into one single sentence or one single sheet of paper. It needs to be presented as a story, for it is my history and what you can learn from it.
Now it has become late and I still have not told you everything I wanted to tell you. I am sorry for that. I shall continue later for this is a task that I do not dare to leave unfinished. I mustn't.
Please be patient.
This is but an introduction to hell.
Short story by Eléa
Read 388 times
Written on 2008-09-23 at 21:25
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Introduction to Talking about me
I was never young the way other people were. Back then the world was not ashes and not burned, but a lightness and freedom that seemed that it would never dissappear. I was happy, with the simplicity that only children can feel in their youth.As we grow older, the troubles of reality linger even as we laugh, and joy becomes a weight, almost solid. People change, I am aware of that. People wish that they may not, or they crave that they should be utterly different, but in the end we always change. Sometimes for the better, sometimes not. I changed too, of course. I went from being free and untroubled to something else. I do still not know exactly what, but I know that I am not what I once were.
Is this a fairy tale for you to listen to as you creep into your bed and dream about goals you'll never reach? I hope not. Though I must say that there are no place where it is more easy to find death and agony than in the stories we feed our young with every day. Maybe it really is no wonder that the world is what it is. It is not a very happy place. I am not a troubled person, but even I can tell that there are clouds are on the skies that we do not understand. If this would have been a civilisation in heavy forests and damp temples we would probably have said that the moon is longing for the sun or that the trees wishes to be heard. Nevertheless, we would have found a reason. In our reality, here and now, we can't. If we say something it is only to lay the blame on other people. People with power, people that can be seen. Are they real?
It was never easy being me. Life is complicated and I am easily confused. As a child I was naive and honest. The years and what they did bring with them made me cynical and reserved. Maybe what I am trying to say is that life is hard, long and expensive, but not necessarily a bad thing. There are too many good things to make life a bad thing. I will not name all the things I believe are good, because then this would get long and corny, and you would lose your interest before I've even started.
I am going to tell you a story, a story about me. It is not a fairy tale and it is not a dream about a life I never had. It is a very plain story about me. There are so many things that I would like to show you, but reality has made that impossible so instead I shall attempt to tell you in the best fashion I can. I hope you understand that I am trying to deliver a message. It is a message that cannot be fit into one single sentence or one single sheet of paper. It needs to be presented as a story, for it is my history and what you can learn from it.
Now it has become late and I still have not told you everything I wanted to tell you. I am sorry for that. I shall continue later for this is a task that I do not dare to leave unfinished. I mustn't.
Please be patient.
This is but an introduction to hell.
Short story by Eléa
Read 388 times
Written on 2008-09-23 at 21:25
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